Buddhism and Violence

In 644 Xuanzang 玄奘(602–664) was staying in the Central Asian kingdom of
Khotan, having returned from his long journey to India. He wrote a
letter there to the Emperor Taizong seeking permission to return to
China. Taizong was apparently quite pleased, though Xuanzang had
initially left the empire without official permission. A few months
later on the first lunar month of 645, he arrived in the Tang capital
Chang'an. A few weeks later he had an audience with Taizong in
Luoyang.

There was actually a significant reason why Taizong was then
staying in Luoyang and not Chang'an. He was gathering his troops at
Luoyang to invade the kingdom of Koguryo (in modern Korea).

The preceding Sui Dynasty (581-618) had attempted to capture
Koguryo in several failed expeditions between 598-614, resulting in
great loss of life and state revenues, all of which contributed to
the premature downfall of said dynasty. In 622 the recently founded
Tang Dynasty (618-907) under Emperor Gaozu 高祖
(566-635) had made attempts at reconciliation with
Koguryo, agreeing to prisoner exchanges.1

Nevertheless, in the same decade Koguryo built massive
fortifications along the Liao River in preparation for renewed
hostilities. The Korean peninsula continued to suffer war as Koguryo
fought with Silla to the south. In China Taizong (598-649) in 626 had
killed his two brothers and forced Gaozu to abdicate the throne.

Being a military man and ambitious leader, the Sui failure to
capture and subjugate Koguryo became an obsessive concern for Taizong. In 641
he even speculated in court that a renewed assault by land and sea
could prove feasible. Intelligence operations commenced around the
same time as he dispatched his men to scout the border on
reconnaissance missions.

The following year there was a coup d'état in Koguryo by the
military leader Yeon Gaesomun who had been in charge of building the
Liao River fortifications. Having killed the earlier king Yeongnyu
榮留王,
who had nominally been a vassal of the Tang, along with over a
hundred aristocrats at court, he was able to place a puppet king
Bojang 寶臧王
(r. 642-668) on the throne. The new court proceeded
with its policies of greater independence from the Tang court.

Taizong did not immediately act as the northeast plains were still
recovering economically from the earlier wars. However, by late 643
Silla, a vassal state of the Tang, had been attacked by Koguryo in
alliance with Paekche, thereby preventing tribute missions to the
Tang court. Taizong failed to resolve this through diplomatic
measures and thereafter decided to personally lead the assault on
Koguryo.

His ministers had warned him against initiating such a campaign
and no doubt the populace still had living memories of the previous
failed campaigns of earlier generations. In 644 Taizong moved himself
in the direction of the front and while staying in Luoyang received a
letter from a curious Chinese monk on the western frontier requesting
permission to return home.

This was around the same time he issued
edicts to the empire declaring his reasons for the campaign: Yeon
Gaesomun was a tyrant guilty of regicide. This seems to have been
propaganda aimed at fostering support because even before the
regicide he had already taken the initial steps at surveying the
frontier, planning for a future assault. Having a unified Korean
peninsula was a threat and moreover he had his own dynastic ambitions
to retake the territories which had once been controlled by the Han
Dynasty (206 BCE - 220 CE).2

Having a Chinese Buddhist monk with loads of scriptures from India
arrive just as the preparations were underway for the invasion no
doubt would have been an opportune chance at bolstering his imperial
image in the face of widespread reluctance to fight another war
against Koguryo. It was a quite fortuitous opportunity to elevate his
status as benefactor of the sangha while he marched many men to their
inevitable deaths. Tansen Sen explains:

The return of Xuanzang seems to have been taken as an auspicious
sign by the emperor. Hence, Taizong, who was generally unsympathetic
and sometimes critical of the Buddhist cause, quickly granted
audience to Xuanzang. Taizong's aim was not to learn about Buddhist
teachings from Xuanzang, nor perhaps was he terribly interested in
the details of the Western Regions at that moment, although he did
ask the pilgrim to write an account of his journey. More likely, as
can be seen from Taizong's suggestion for Xuanzang to return to
secular life and assist him in administrative affairs, the emperor
wanted to secure spiritual support for his temporal quest. In fact,
Taizong indirectly made such a request to the monk: "We cannot
completely express our ideas in such a hurry. We wish that you could
come with us to the eastern region and observe the local customs. We
can carry on the conversation besides directing the army.”3

The support for Xuanzang's translation project, and lack of
punishment for having exited the country without permission almost
two decades prior, might very well have been not so forthcoming had
the circumstances been different. Xuanzang obtained the resources and people he needed to work on his translations, but this success of his
was perhaps actually tied to the war on the Korean peninsula.

If
Taizong had not been readying himself to fight an unpopular aggressive
war (it was not defensive in contrast to the struggles with the Turks
and Tibetans), we
might imagine there would have been a less supportive response from
the emperor and Xuanzang's influential translations and new
terminology might not have been possible. In other words, Xuanzang
was an indirect beneficiary of the war.

This is a theme we see throughout Buddhist history: Buddhists as
beneficiaries of violence. In recent years there has been increasing
academic interest in examining the topic. Buddhism and Social Justice at Leiden University is
one example of a scholarly project aimed at “moving away from a
common perception of Buddhism as intrinsically a tradition of peace
and justice.” This indeed is at odds with the mainstream western
perception of Buddhism. In the west Buddhism is readily associated
with liberal western values and pacifism, though the historical
realities of Buddhist institutions across Asia would reveal a
different image.

In my readings of Buddhist literature and history I have often
found that while Buddhists have been reluctant to exercise violence
themselves, they often do not object to being either direct or
indirect beneficiaries of violence. What this means is that Buddhist
institutions might condemn violence and encourage non-violence while
benefiting immensely as a client of a greater power which readily
employs violence to secure unearned wealth or even just to protect the
realm. As we can see with Xuanzang and Taizong, this sort of
relationship between the sangha and state could entail quite
significant developments. Of course it was not the first time in
China. Tansen Sen explains:

In the past, a number of Buddhist monks, especially those from
South and Central Asia, had participated in Chinese military
campaigns. The success of their magical and miraculous powers in such
operations was legendary since at least the fourth century. The
Kuchean monk Fotudeng (an alternate reading of the name is
Futucheng), who arrived in China in 310, is perhaps the best example
of such “state-monks”. In the fifth century, renowned monk
translators such as Jiumoluoshi (Kumārajīva,
344-413) and Tanwuchan (Dharmakṣema?, 385-433) are also known to
have assisted the Chinese rulers in military and state affairs. It is
not surprising, therefore, that Taizong sought Xuanzang's assistance
in the offensive against the Korean kingdom.4

We can actually see this same theme play out back in even the
earliest time of institutionalized Buddhism. Long ago there was the
famous emperor Aśoka (304-232 BCE) who launched a ghoulish war
against his enemies. They were largely conquered and subjugated.

Everyone involved in Buddhism at some point hears about his personal
crisis where seeing the devastation and suffering he caused he had a
change of heart and adopted Buddhism. He then commenced various
building projects. He cracked open old tombs holding the Buddha's
relics and erected many new stūpas with the remains divided amongst
them. He also had pillars constructed proclaiming how the realm was
to follow dhamma. It seems he was quite favorable towards the
sangha.

In modern terms, Aśoka
would be understood as a war criminal who knowingly launched a war of
aggression to expand his sphere of power, and in the process, by his
own admission, murdered tens of thousands of innocent people. One of
his inscriptions states the following:

Beloved-of-the-Gods, King Piyadasi, conquered the Kalingas eight
years after his coronation. One hundred and fifty thousand were
deported, one hundred thousand were killed and many more died (from
other causes). After the Kalingas had been conquered,
Beloved-of-the-Gods came to feel a strong inclination towards the
Dhamma, a love for the Dhamma and for instruction in Dhamma. Now
Beloved-of-the-Gods feels deep remorse for having conquered the
Kalingas.

Indeed, Beloved-of-the-Gods is deeply pained by the killing, dying
and deportation that take place when an unconquered country is
conquered. But Beloved-of-the-Gods is pained even more by this —
that Brahmans, ascetics, and householders of different religions who
live in those countries, and who are respectful to superiors, to
mother and father, to elders, and who behave properly and have strong
loyalty towards friends, acquaintances, companions, relatives,
servants and employees — that they are injured, killed or separated
from their loved ones. Even those who are not affected (by all this)
suffer when they see friends, acquaintances, companions and relatives
affected. These misfortunes befall all (as a result of war), and this
pains Beloved-of-the-Gods.5

Aśoka got away with mass murder, but the Buddhist narratives do not
describe him in such terms, as if his atrocities and sins were
absolved just by virtue of his apparent conversion to Buddhism. His
support to the sangha amplified the power of the Buddhist sangha and
really launched the religion into a new development of
institutionalization and widespread adoption around the subcontinent
and beyond.

The reality is that the Buddhists during his reign and thereafter for
a time were beneficiaries of the violence he had committed, which
aids in explaining why he came to be seen as an agreeable example of
the transformative power of the religion. We have no record to my
knowledge of anyone suggesting that the resources invested in the
religion might have been better spent as reparations to the conquered
peoples.

Understandably, given the power and past history of the
regime itself, this was probably not a realistic course of action
regardless of Aśoka's new perspective on compassion and
non-violence. The emperor was, after all, an institution and not a
single man. Still, even after he died, he was embraced as an
legitimizing figure. Aśoka became such a powerful and legitimizing
authority in Buddhist myth that later sources of the Theravāda
school associate him with key events. Romila Thapar explains:

It was during Ashoka's reign that the Buddhist Sangha underwent
further reorganization, with the meeting of the Third Buddhist
Council at Pataliputra in c. 250 BC. The Theravada sect claimed that
it represented the true teaching of the Buddha, a claim that enabled
it to become a dominant sect in the southern tradition and allowed it
to exclude those regarded as dissidents. Theravada Buddhist sources
have naturally tried to associate Ashoka with this important event in
order to give it greater legitimacy. Ashoka does not mention it
directly in any of his inscriptions, but there is a possibly oblique
reference in an inscription addressed to the Buddhist Sangha, stating
that dissident monks and nuns are to be expelled. The exclusion of
dissidents is a recognized pattern in sectarian contestations.6

It is ironic that a
Buddhist school would attempt to legitimize itself and its policies
by drawing close a warlord responsible for ghoulish atrocities.
However, this is but one of many examples of such a phenomenon in
Buddhist history.

We might also imagine that Buddhist history from an
early point onward might have developed quite differently had Aśoka
not converted to Buddhism, or even if he had converted had never
conquered vast territories, thus economically enabling the
proliferation of the religion both domestically and abroad.

Modern
scholars can therefore state, “Both
schools, the Pāli
school in Sri Lanka and the Sarvāstivādins
in the northwest of the Indian subcontinent, owe their origin to the
missions that under king Aśoka
(reigned ca. 270-ca. 230 B.C.) were sent in the most diverse
directions.”7We see quite clearly how Buddhism indirectly benefited
immensely from Aśoka's wars.

The mythology of Buddhism likewise provides numerous examples of
the sangha coming under the protection of cosmic deities who exercise
violence or the threat thereof on behalf of those who otherwise
adhere to principles of non-violence. In other words, the guardian
vows to do the fighting on behalf of the Buddhist, though it normally
remains unsaid whether negative karma is still to be suffered for
exercising such defensive measures. It begs the question if it
virtuous and meritorious to use violence to defend the sangha? Often
the idea is that the wrathful and awesome warriors frighten evil
away, though this is not always the case. Violence is explicitly
mentioned.

There are plenty examples of such deities early on, long before the
emergence of Mahāyāna, such as the four Mahārāja (Dhṛtarāṣṭra,
Virūḍhaka, Virūpākṣa and Vaiśravaṇa) and their chief Indra
(otherwise known as Śakra/Sakka) the Deva King.

Indra is an interesting
figure in that, according to the Buddhists, he became a disciple of
the Buddha and by his own admission attained stream-entry
(srotāpanna):

"Having gone to those whom I considered to be brahmans &
contemplatives living in isolated dwellings in the wilderness, I
asked them these questions. But when asked by me, they were at a
loss. Being at a loss, they asked me in return, 'What is your name?'

"Being asked, I responded, 'I, dear sir, am Sakka, the
deva-king.'

"So they questioned me further, 'But what kamma did you do to
attain to this state?'

"So I taught them the Dhamma as far as I had heard and
mastered it. And they were gratified with just this much: 'We have
seen Sakka, the deva-king, and he has answered our questions!' So,
instead of my becoming their disciple, they simply became mine. But
I, lord, am the Blessed One's disciple, a stream-winner, steadfast,
never again destined for states of woe, headed for self-awakening."

Now curiously after making such a statement the Buddha asks him if
he could recall ever having experienced such happiness and joy. He
states the following:

"Once, lord, the devas and asuras were arrayed in battle. And
in that battle the devas won, while the asuras lost. Having won the
battle, as the victor in the battle, this thought occurred to me:
'Whatever has been the divine nourishment of the asuras, whatever has
been the divine nourishment of the devas, the devas will now enjoy
both of them.' But my attainment of happiness and joy was in the
sphere of violence and weapons. It didn't lead to disenchantment, to
dispassion, to cessation, to calm, to direct knowledge to
self-awakening, to Unbinding. But my attainment of happiness and joy
on hearing the Blessed One's Dhamma is in the sphere of no violence,
the sphere of no weapons. It leads to disenchantment, to dispassion,
to cessation, to calm, to direct knowledge to self-awakening, to
Unbinding."8

Like Zeus and the Titans (it is the common Indo-European myth
actually; called the Titanomachy), Indra is credited with
having successfully battled the asuras. In the Rg Veda, Indra
is the destroyer of asuras, most notably his enemy Vṛtra who had
kept all the waters of the world hostage before being slain by Indra.
A similar myth is found in Buddhism as well where Indra defeats the
asura leader Vemacitrin (Pāli Vepacitti) who is brought before him
in chains in the Trāyastriṃśa realm, whereupon the fallen asura
hurls slurs at his patient conqueror (see the Vepacitti Sutta).

The conflict between Indra
and the asuras goes back to his early reign. The story is related in
the Kulāvaka Jātaka.
In his life before being reborn as Indra, he was known as Magha, an
energetic and benevolent man of good pedigree.

The story seems to say he
was the Bodhisattva (i.e., the Buddha in a past life), but the
Samyutta Commentary states his
life was like that of a bodhisattva, thus the Indra of this story is
the same as the Indra which meets the Buddha (see here). Indra is a mortal god,
and the position of Deva King passes from one incarnation of
Śakra/Sakka to another, so it is possible that the Buddha in a past
life occupied such a position, though the whole of Buddhist mythology
would suggest the Indra in the Kulāvaka Jātaka is the same one who
meets with the Buddha Śākyamuni.

Magha was reborn as the king of devas in Trāyastriṃśa atop Mount
Sumeru. Detesting that asuras lived alongside the devas there, he
asked, “What good to us is a kingdom which others share?” He had
the asuras partake of the deva's drink, and thus they became
intoxicated. It was then that they were hurled from Mount Sumeru to
the bottom of the mountain, which was called the realm of asuras.
There the Cittapātali blossomed which indicated to them that they
were no longer amongst devas, where their cherished Pāricchattaka
tree remained.

The asuras became furious that they were made to drink and be cast
out of Trāyastriṃśa and said they would forcibly retake their
realm, and up the sides of Mount Sumeru they climbed like ants on a
pillar. The alarms went up and Indra went into battle against them,
but could not repel them and fled into the forest. His chariot
trampled the forest and the beings inhabiting it cried out causing
him to turn around and sacrifice himself to the asuras rather than
injure any more beings in the forest. However, the asuras believed
that it was reinforcements arriving instead and they fled back to the
realm of asuras.

Indra returned triumphantly to Trāyastriṃśa. He then
established a five-fold guard to prevent the asuras from returning,
which included the Four Mahārāja who were given this task it seems
alongside their other duties of guarding the four continents.

Later one of his former handmaidens Sujā was reborn as daughter to
the asura leader Vemacitrin. Indra, driven by his former love,
descended amongst the asuras who were assembled so that Sujā could
select her husband. Indra disguised himself as an aged asura in
anticipation that she would select him. She in fact did, whereupon
the assembly cried out he was old enough to be her father. Indra
grabbed Sujā and fled into the air before revealing his identity.
The asuras gave chase and the pair with the charioteer fled back to
Trāyastriṃśa, where Indra installed Sujā as his chief consort.
Nevertheless, despite this union the asuras remain actively hostile
to the devas and the battles carry on as they remain intent on
reclaiming their realm. This is why the four Mahārāja gods that
Buddhists venerate are charged with the ongoing task of keeping the
exiled asuras off Mount Sumeru.

Despite all his spiritual pursuits and practice of Buddhadharma,
Indra's position as guardian and chief of noble guardians also remains
ongoing. Indra is basically seven lifetimes away from nirvāṇa
(i.e., srotāpanna)
and clearly possessed of wisdom and faith in the Buddha, yet he
maintains his role as political ruler over Trāyastriṃśa and the
armies under his direct command.

Even though this is mythology, it is
still remarkable how a cosmic warrior king could manage such a
spiritual attainment. It sets a subtle, perhaps almost entirely
unrecognized, precedent that even warrior kings can gain wisdom and
attainments while simultaneously fulfilling their worldly duties.
Here is a character who was clearly subject to ill-will, intolerance
and passionate desire, yet still managed to learn Dharma from the
Buddha while maintaining his elevated position of celestial king.
This is different from Angulimālya in that he renounced his old
ways, whereas Indra continues his role as before, presumably still
fighting off the asuras who would retake their homeland which they were ejected from. It remains
to be seen if Indra will make reparations to the asuras and allow
them back.

Indra's character is also celebrated in Buddhism around Asia. You
can see his image both in Mahāyāna
and Theravāda
temples.
He has historically been respected as a protector of the Triple Gem
and has a role to play in esoteric Buddhism as well. His patience and
noble character in the face of the shackled Vemacitrin's slurs is
seen as worthy of emulation.

As far as I know, there is
little sympathy afforded to the asuras. While it seems they are
painted as violent demons, it seems Indra was more jealous than
anything else, which prompted him to make them intoxicated
and then cast them off Mount Sumeru. This is in line with his other
questionable characteristics like deception and passionate desire. He
is basically a god with many faults, but still managed to become a
stream-enterer.
Overall, however, the early Buddhist tradition regarded him as on the
side of good, often aiding the Buddha and his disciples in unseen
ways (for all the details see palikanon.com).

This is still a figure,
though, which commands armies who operate directly under his
standard. Buddhists are under his protection. Such a myth in many
ways reflects how it also works in our conventional reality where
Buddhism is usually under the protection of persons or states which,
like Indra, have troubled pasts and ongoing problems with old
enemies. The sangha owes a
debt of gratitude to such a fallible god.

In early Buddhism as well we see incantations used to procure the
protection of non-corporeal beings. In the Pāli
Dīgha Nikāya
the Atanatiya Suttaprovides
a protection incantation against malevolent Yakkhas. It tells
of a meeting with the
Buddha where the “four great kings having placed a guard over the
four quarters, with a large army of Yakkhas, of Gandhabbas, of
Kumbhandas, of Nagas; having placed troops; having placed a barricade
of soldiers on four sides, came to the presence of the Blessed One,
when the night was far advanced, illuminating the entire Vulture's
Peak with their surpassing radiance, saluted the Blessed One and sat
on one side.”

Here we see the Buddha and his
sangha coming under the armed guard of said beings. It is said that
anyone who recites the incantation is protected, and the offending
non-human will be ostracized by their community, but also that their
head will be split open into seven pieces. There are several Yakkha
chiefs which one can appeal to when being assaulted, the names of
which are all given.

Not only have Buddhist communities in India been beneficiaries of
violence, but they have sanctioned it and even incorporated it within
their ideological and religious frameworks, most notably during the
later period of Indian Buddhist history. Giovanni Verardi in his work
Hardships and Downfall of Buddhism in India
explains how the emergence of
Vajrayāna
was in part in
response to mounting social and political pressures on Buddhism from
hostile Brahmanical parties. We see the emergence of violent
iconography on both sides of
the conflict:

Violence was no longer a
taboo for the Buddhists: it was part of their strategy, together with
sexual unruliness and a conscious resorting to social revolt. It is a
mistake to consider the incitements to revolt contained in the texts
and the manifestations of violence in both texts and iconographies as
purely symbolic. They are literal and metaphorical, not symbolic. As
metaphors, through the analogical process, texts and iconographies
transfer the violence committed by the Buddhists on the tīrthika-s
to those carried out on the Brahmanical gods by the new Buddhist
deities. That a symbolic interpretation started developing at an
early stage is not particularly significant, because it was largely
the work of trans-Himalayan Buddhists who had to adapt the received
tradition to a context where there were no tīrthika-s. The
Vajrayāna
was considered part of the true teaching of the Buddha, and neither
texts nor images could be changed: they could only be interpreted.
These interpretations have their own legitimacy, and so deep and
influential as to have generated an entire symbolic universe,
extending from Tibet to Japan, but we must first distinguish between
Indian Buddhism and the violent world where it developed and the
forms it took when it was received outside India.9

The reaction to such pressures is illustrated in other ways.
Ronald M. Davidson in the Handbook of Oriental Studies Esoteric
Buddhism and the Tantras in East Asia explains that “Northern
Indian monasteries began to assume fortress identities, and over time
they became de facto feudal holdings, in which the largest of the
newly-formed institutions—Nālandā, Odantapurī, Somapura,
Vikramaśīla, etc.—administered domains in the surrounding
countryside. Their abbots exercised police powers, collected taxes,
engaged other feudal lords in discussions, received their gifts, and
otherwise assumed many of the trappings of sāmanta local
lords by investing their dominion over a sphere of territory
(mandala).”10

Eventually Buddhism collapsed in India and consequently “according
to Ronald Davidson in the late-twelfth and early-thirteenth centuries
central Tibet (Tsang) was flooded with foreigners, particularly
Indian monks fleeing the Turkic and Afghan Muslim invasions of
northern India.”11

Tibetan Buddhism likewise early on had a policy of expediently
employed violence. Earlier I looked at how Buddhism was used as a
practical means of consolidating imperial power in early Tibet and
Japan (see here).
In the face of fragmented elite power and feeble bureaucratic
arrangements, Buddhism offered a means of culturally integrating
diverse and competing spheres of power under a centralized state
which acted as the primary benefactor of the new common religion. In the
case of both countries Buddhist institutions were protected and
maintained by imperial powers which had access to significant amounts
of unearned wealth, but the Buddhists themselves also used violence
to their long-term benefit as well.

For instance, in the case of early Tibet, according to Tāranātha
(1575-1634) in his biography of Padmasambhava, Padmasambhava himself
used his magic to kill an opponent of Buddhism. Whether this really
happened or not is debatable, but nevertheless it is remarkable that
the Indian master is said to have intentionally
killed someone in his hagiography:

The minister We Dongzig also strongly hated Buddhism, so the Master
said, “In a while he will be powerful and won't let the Dharma
spread, therefore the time has come to eliminate him.”
Padmasambhava meditated for an instant; right then all the minister’s
blood drained out of his body, so that he died.12

Throughout the seventh to ninth centuries Buddhism was often
attacked by aristocratic elements of Tibetan society. Given the
violent of history of the Tibetan empire, it seems probable that
indeed a measure of violence was needed to ensure the introduction of
Buddhism.

All of this brings into question the
relationship between violence and Buddhist institutions. In my
estimation if such an institution becomes connected to the
state or ruling class, then inevitably it will be either directly or
indirectly associated with the violence that underpins authority. As
Carl von Clausewitz suggested, "War is the continuation of
Politik by other means."

At a more domestic level, the
authority of the state over its populace is derived chiefly from its
monopoly on violence or the threat thereof. Citizens are forced to
comply with taxation under penalty of deprivation or imprisonment, or
sometimes harsher punishments. Policing is employed to placate and
eliminate internal threats. Buddhist communities
might enjoy such a secure environment in which they have the luxury of not
having to resort to violence for their survival and well-being.

It might be in the interests of the Buddhist
institution to assent to and support the authority of the
state, which again exists because of its monopoly and employment of
violence. This might be simple things like encouraging people to pay
their taxes honestly, or even supporting a war effort, as
can be seen throughout Buddhist history.

The Buddha
himself believed that organized society and laws came to exist due to
the greed and human failings of people. This is related in the
Aggañña Sutta where it is explained that long ago people
started demarcating plots for rice amongst themselves due to greedy
harvesters, though later on some started stealing rice from the plots
of others. The people thereafter appointed a capable king to
administer justice.

Details aside, from a higher level of abstraction
what this myth tells us is that social organization, government and
resource management all exist due to human failings. They are not
inherently desireable or good, but were brought into existence to
address harmful behaviours brought on by the afflictions. This means that justice
requires violence of some sort, be it imprisonment, banishment or the
application of physical harm.

In the absence of justice, the law of
the jungle comes into effect. This is why, as Plato and Polybius
noted, people readily elect a tyrant to restore order in chaotic
times, especially when democracy inevitably fails. The myth in the
Aggañña Sutta states the
same thing: the people tried to collectively plead for good behavior
from their wicked counterparts, but ultimately failed. They appointed
a king who would receive a share of the agricultural surplus, earned
through his ability to manage the community.

This
Buddhist myth therefore speaks of an intelligent application of
violence where required. In the case of refractory thieves, it was
necessary to “appoint a certain being who would show anger where
anger was due, censure those who deserved it, and banish those who
deserved banishment.”13

In modern times as well Buddhism has often indirectly benefited
from violence or the threat of violence. Modern Taiwan is a prime
example of this where the island was under the control of the
Nationalists who were keen on supporting Buddhism as a means of
displaying their commitment to certain values which the communists on
the mainland were not. What is remarkable is that it was the US war
machine during the height of the cold war which really ensured
Taiwan's de facto independence and security, within which Buddhism
flourished. It became a stronghold of Chinese
Buddhist which the Chinese diaspora looked to for Dharma teachers and
training. Taiwanese Buddhists became the custodians of Chinese
Buddhism, under the protection of America.

The Chinese Buddhist
masters that escaped the communits really only survived
because a very effective and opportunistic military was protecting
them. If Mao had managed to take Taiwan, we can easily imagine the
Buddhists there would have suffered much of the same fate their
companions did on the mainland, and no large scale organizations like
Tzu Chi or Foguangshan could have been built.

This all raises some ethical questions. Can you preach
non-violence and yet still so readily benefit, both directly and
indirectly, through violence exercised on your behalf?

I believe Buddhist ethics do not function well at a national level.
They are very personal and might work on a small scale in a local
community, but a state basically maintains order through violence
utilized inwardly to suppress domestic disorder and outwardly to
deter and/or fight back hostile forces. The precept against killing
is unfortunately unrealistic as a national
policy, though of course it is desireable in times
of relative internal security.

Herein lay the problem: as a Buddhist if you
condone violence you are violating a core tenet of the religion, but
if you absolutely deny the utility of violence you are possibly
denying your community the security and detterance it needs just to
survive and function. This perhaps helps to explain why throughout
history Buddhists have often abhorred violence yet not really
objected too critically to being beneficiaries of it. This is true in
history as it is in Buddhist mythology.

As a Buddhist monk I personally cannot condone violence, but then
my ethics are inappropriate when it comes to national defense and
internal policing. What is applicable to me as an individual is not
necessarily applicable to all levels of society. The micro versus the macro.

Perhaps many might find this difficult to
accept given how we might hope our highest morals, if carried out to
their fullest extent, will always result in favorable outcomes even
if we face some obstacles along the way. This is simply naive and
idealistic thinking. Sometimes begrudging tolerance of sin is a
lesser evil when compared to the damage unrealistic ethics can
enable.

You can preach non-violence when you live in a first world country
where you do not experience hostile belligerence. Imagine you lived
in Thailand some decades ago when the
communists were at the borders and their success could have
meant the obliteration of Buddhism in Thailand? Look at
what happened to the sangha in places like communist China or
Cambodia.

Proponents of absolute non-violence will often point to Gandhi as
a success story, but bear in mind he was fighting an opponent who did
not want to use violence. Stop and consider how successful he would
have been had he been facing Joseph Stalin, who was quite ready and
willing to kill anyone who got in his way.

Buddhists more or less have to begrudgingly accept a position as
beneficiaries of violence. This is the ugly nature of saṃsāra.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't. You perhaps cannot condone
violence if you strictly follow the teachings of Śākyamuni Buddha,
but on the other hand you cannot deny you benefit both directly and
indirectly from violence exercised on your behalf.

------

Footnotes:

1 This
is recorded in the Samguk Sagi三國史記(Korea's oldest extant history, compiled
1145):

10 Ronald
M. Davidson, "Sources and Inspirations: Esoteric Buddhism in
South Asia" in Handbook of Oriental Studies Esoteric
Buddhism and the Tantras in East Asia (Leiden, The Netherlands:
Brill, 2011), 20-21.